


1 : Jumping

by ArlenaTheWriter



Series: Dust One-Shots: 20+ Methods of Suicide [1]
Category: Dusttale - Alternate Universe, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cutting, Depression, Guilt, Murder, Pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Schizophrenia, Suicide, Why would you read this, jumping, trigger warning, very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArlenaTheWriter/pseuds/ArlenaTheWriter
Summary: This is my part one of 20+ Methods of suicide with Dusttale Sans.Our Current list:Jumping - DoneClassic HangingSuffocation by plastic bagCutting (wrist)GunshotStabbingCutting (Neck)Forced concussion.Encouraged suicideLack of proper suppliesDrowningPoisonVehicle ImpactBleeding outForced infection.Swallowing bladesOverdoseCarbon Dioxide poisoningCrushing oneself.Fire.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: Dust One-Shots: 20+ Methods of Suicide [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571683
Kudos: 16





	1 : Jumping

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sick, and my wifi isn't correcting my grammar, so I apologize.   
> I also just wanted to get something out.  
> TW: Self-Harm/Suicide

The cold air carried drops of water that could only be charactierised as the leftovers of the massive drops that had fell and hour ago. The rain seemed to release the scent of everything in the area. The smell of salt was greeted by fresh pine and the rotting trunk of the dying tree Dust stood next to. It creaked in protest agains the wind that was pushing it out to sea. In a few years it will have long falled onto the rocky bottom bellow. 

The ocean waves below him wasn’t enough to block out the screams on ringing in his mind. If they were, maybe he wouldn’t be considering doing what he was, and maybe he wouldn’t be standing there, on the muddy edge, staring at the sea, but not processing it’s existence.

He did that all the time, and Killer always criticised him on it. He would lose himself in thought just randomly in converstations, and after he snapped back he never seemed quite the same. Dust himself didn’t notice he really ever did that until after Killer’s comment.

Thinking, he supposed, was like swimming. If you focus on your strokes and your breathing, you’ll be fine, but if you lose track, you’ll falter, or drown. It was a shame Dust didn’t know how to swim, both literally and figuratively. 

He paced back and forth on the edge, practically begging fate to make him slip off the edge, but it wasn’t going to happen. His life wasn’t going to be ended, not anytime soon at least, unless he did it himself. Fate still hadn’t forgiven him for his crimes, and neither had he. That was why he was here. 

Dust ran his hand over his right arm, feeling the ridges of his scars, and hissing in pain when his fingers met the fresher ones. He couldn’t keep doing this. He had to either end it here, or get help, and he was leaning towards the former.

Not even his friends would know what to do with him if he came out about his struggles. All they would do was distance themselves from him and check in frequently with that fake concerning question “Are you doing alright?” How was he supposed to be doing alright? He had the blood off hundreds of people on his hands and he was supposed to be doing alright?

He wasn’t as strong as his friends. He couldn’t stare into a dying monster’s eyes and smile. He couldn’t block out the pain, or the guilt, or the anger. He just wasn’t strong enough. He hated to admit it, but he still threw up after missions.

His thoughts snapped back to the ocean and he hesitantly remembered what he had to do. He stopped pacing to stare out across the fjords. This was his one chance where he would be able to do it without his friends knowing. This was the best way to do it without hurting anyone, though Dust doubted they would be upset. They would treat his death just like any other. Something to be bottled up and forgotten. 

He braced himself to jump. His muscles tensed and his body trembled. 

And just before he jumped he thought about them. His friends.

He remembered Killer, and his horrible jokes. How after they ended a raid he would put everyone in a light mood by pouring a few drinks and just talking. He could change the energy in the room just by walking in. And when it was time to be serious, he would become the most understanding and listening person Dust ever knew. He had never wanted to kill, that was just the kid inside him.

And Horror, who took Dust under his wing when he first joined. He knew everything you needed to know about a topic, and extra details you wish you hadn’t heard. He was honest, and worked harder than a horse on the battlefield. Dust couldn’t even remember the amount of nights where Horror had allowed Dust to sleep with him for comfort.

Just for a moment, Dust hesitated. 

And then the wind picked up.

Dust grit his teeth as his heels dug into the earth and he pushed off.

For a split second, he was happy, and then his mind shut down as he plummeted.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any methods you would like to add to the list, feel free to comment them down below.


End file.
